Stimuli Overload
by TheMarginalthinker
Summary: Ectoplasm can do a lot of things-heal wounds, make you super strong, give you unimaginable powers; but combining it with an already breathing, thinking living human body? There are bound to be some...unwanted side effects...


Overload-shorts and scenes

It started with the paper cut.

I didn't notice it at first-who would? It was just a little thing, not a centimeter in length, right on the end of my index finger.

I'd been writing biology notes for the past thirty minutes (though admittedly, I'd really only been half concentrating on what I'd actually been writing. I know shame on me with my grades like they were and all...) and, ran out of paper to write on. Glancing over to my binder, I remembered there was no clean loose leaf in there, either. I'd used it all up for my other classes as well. I suppose it was time I asked mom and dad...or, more likely, Jazz to take me out to get some, or jus ask if they had any on hand. Knowing my sister, she definitely would. However, despite my future plans, I was still left with the kinda pressing situation of no paper.

I paused for moment before deciding any new actions, just to take stock of the situation around me.

Mrs. Mila was pacing slowly at the front of the class, as she normally did, holding her school-issued tablet changing Powerpoint slides when she'd finished talking about what was on the screen, answering the occasional question, or even telling one of those really bad teacher jokes-ou know, the kind that relate to the material we're learning, and the only reason anyone, including the teacher, laughs at is because they're so bad. Swiveling my head back from the front to see behind me at the largest source of light in the room at the moment, (Mrs. Milo had turned off the lights for the powerpoint) I stared out the large windows at the track and baseball fields, my eyes taking a few moments to adjust the warm afternoon light. In fact, there was a p.e. class outside today-looks like they were playing with frisbees or something. It was, in pretty much every way, a completly...normal and average school day for anyone attending highschool in mid-west Illinois.

Even for me. And that's saying something.

I stole a glance to my right. As expected, he wasn't _writing_ writing, but tapping away on his 'baby', and not even using the clearly nearly empty spiral-bound notebook in front of him. Sparing a moment to see if the teacher was distracted, I casually leaned over, (though extremely careful not to tip the seat over as had bought me many a glare from the leaders of the class for disrupting said class) and pulled Tucker's burette, slightly-just enough to get the techie's attention.

After a few seconds wait as he finished typing whatever it was he was fiddling with on the screen, and he looked up at me. At my apprehensive look, he quirked an eyebrow. The look, after all, could have meant a number of things, from 'are you ok?' to "ghosts attacking. Cover for me?' but not today. Actually, it was a little weird. Normally, something (or someone) would have shown up to at least pester me by now...though with how my day-to-day life usually is, I suppose I shouldn't be looking this gift-horse in the mouth.

Gesturing with my free hand towards my filled papers, I waited for the recognition to dawn. It did, with a knowing smile, and a 'hold on a sec' motion. Flipping open the notebook, the grating sound of tearing paper cut the mostly silent air of the classroom. Receiving a few half-glares from the more studious of our classmates at the interruption, I just took the papers and smiled a little at them. I was mostly used to the looks anyway. Cant go rushing to the bathroom several times a day without earning a bit of a reputation based on some rather crude rumors about _why_ I was in the bathrooms so often...

When I reached out to take the papers, my hand must have slipped, or I'd taken ahold of them funny, because as soon as they'd made contact with my skin...I felt a sharp, yet burning pain run all the way from my finger, over my hand and up my _arm._

The paper cut.

A sort of strangled noise gurgled in the back of my throat, where I'd cut it off before blowing the class away with what would have been a human equivalent to my ghostly wail.

_God-that had HURT!_

I clutched my hand-specifically my finger-in attempts to mitigate the pain; it didn't help much, it just made my finger start to go numb from the force I was using. Maybe that was better then that horrid _throbbing_ that twisted and snaked through the appendage. Damn!

My inital jerk and the admittedly strange sounds coming from me must have caught more then just Tucker's attention, because when I looked up from the ball I'd unconsciously made of my body, all eyes in the class were on me and Mrs. Milo was a few feet away asking if I was alright. I blinked a few times, forcing back a stray tear-it still stung- and got my bearings back a bit before shakily nodding, not really trusting my voice at the moment. The last thing anyone needed to hear wad th whimper I desperately wanted to let loose... The teacher looked skeptical, but moved away after a few seconds, along with everyone else's attention. Well, nearly everyone...

"You ok, man?" Tucker hissed beside me, brows raised in a worrying question.

"Y-yeah...uh...just um...just a sudden cramp wa all. I mean, Mrs. Milo loves to make us write, yeah?"

My friend looked about as convinced as Mrs. Milo had, but like the teacher, didn't comment further, and leaned back into his seat. at least my voice was back.

The pain in my arm had receded some, mostly centering around the abused finger in question, rather then spreading like the fire it had been a few minutes ago.

_Hm...odd... _ I examined my finger silently for a moment, noting how it wasn't bleeding much-or at least, bleeding as much as a paper cut should, the skin growing a bit red and aggravated, as seemed pretty normal. _But, then again," _ I thought with a slight shrug, picking up my pencil again to resume writing the large amount of bio notes we still had to get through, (thank the heavens I'm left handed) _"fingers are pretty sensitive. Maybe the cut just hit a nerve close to the surface." _

Yeah. Nerve close to surface, right. By the time this was over, I'd wish to _Desiree _ for that to have been true.


End file.
